


Something Stereotypical

by GoTeamMonarch1



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Dark Comedy, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Horror, M/M, Multi, Murder Mystery, Other, Rape, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21664216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoTeamMonarch1/pseuds/GoTeamMonarch1
Summary: The members of VenTech have been invited to the Rolling Hills Science Collective; what should have been the greatest Think-Tank to ever be launched. Dr. Venture brings his family and chief inventors to rub elbows with the "new-school" super science community. Little does he know, this Think-Tank will open the door to an old mystery, a new murder, and some unexpected romance.
Relationships: Billy Quizboy/Pete White, Brock Samson/Rusty Venture, Dean Venture/Brown Widow, Dean Venture/Original Charater(s), Dr. Girlfriend/The Monarch, Hank Venture/Original Character(s), Henchman 21/Original Character(s), Sirena Ong/Hank Venture
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The members of VenTech have been invited to the Rolling Hills Science Collective; what should have been the greatest Think-Tank to ever be launched. Dr. Venture brings his family and chief inventors to rub elbows with the "new-school" super science community. Little does he know, this Think-Tank will open the door to an old mystery, a new murder, and some unexpected romance.

**Something Stereotypical**

Part 1: On Our Father’s Coattails

Chapter one: Docs-icology Report

“Why do _we_ have to go to _them_?” groused Dr. Venture as he watched his only two employees struggle to load the various crates into transport vessels “I mean, aren’t _I_ a big-time player now? I’m a level ten protagonist for goodness sake!”

“I don’t even know why you’re bothering to bring half this crap!” shouted Billy from behind the numerous crates scattered across the cargo bay.

Pete emerged from the center transport vessel holding a slightly dilapidated ray gun, “Yeah pally, what’s the point of bringing your broken junk? That’s hardly impressive.”

Dr. Venture found himself pinching the bridge of his nose and let out a deep nasally sigh. “The deal was for us to get together and fix our broken crap! That was the deal!”

“I thought it was supposed to be a collaboration of the greatest minds?” mumbled Dean from behind his textbook while absentmindedly chewing on his pinky nail.

Rusty Venture couldn’t help but glower at his son’s snarky remark. Between his smart ass offspring and incompetent employees, no one could see the bigger picture here. It wasn’t a _collaboration of greatest minds_ ; it was a damn peep show! “See, you amateurs, don’t quite understand what’s happening here. They are _betting_ on us to bring our greatest inventions or ideas, it’s inter-science community espionage!” Smoothing down the front of his speed suit Dr. Venture turned to his audience expectantly, “We are not falling for the oldest trick in the book!” 

“Alright, fine, you want to bring all of your garbage to this thing, that's a-okay. How about we at least get a forklift to move all of this junk?” lisped Billy exasperatedly as he brushed droplets of sweat collecting on his brow.

“Or where’s the VenTech Deep Earth Mining Mecha? We can use the pincers to move some of these boxes.” Grunted Pete as he struggled to push against a moderately sized crate.

Wildly waving his hands across the room Dr. Venture felt his temper hitting a boiling point, “Obviously, it was packed in one of these junk piles! Where else wou—“. His angry rant came to a halt as he sauntered over his son; plucking the offending textbook from his grasp, “What exactly is this? Ugh, Women’s Studies? Why are you taking Women’s Studies? Wait a minute, I didn’t sign you up for _this_!”

“I went to my guidance counselor and she let me trade a few classes.” Shrugged Dean as he reached for his textbook.

“Tr-TRADE?! You can’t just _trade_ classes! You’ll fall behind! You’re on a strict super science curriculum. Dean, you don’t have time to be _experimenting_ with extracurricular activities! Careers in super science go hard and fast; you need to get in there and burn bright, otherwise you’ll just burn out.” Dr. Venture finished his spiel while tossing the offending textbook back into his son’s hands.

Dean clutched the textbook to his chest as he looked forlornly from his father, “I don’t think I _want_ to focus on super sci—“

“Done!” Interrupted Pete while nestled within the VenTech Mining Mecha. All the all the crates, aside from the one open crate behind Pete, were cleared from the loading bay. However, Rusty only focus on the straw packing littered across the entire cargo bay.

“Get down from there, get it in the cargo ship, and clean up all of this crap!” Dr. Venture shouted over his shoulder as he entered the elevator, “I’ll be packing.”

Rusty couldn’t help but note that the moment he stepped onto the elevator his headache seemed to dissipate. Leaning on the wall behind him Doc closed his eyes with a faint pout remaining on his face. He mused on how his life was starting to tumble apart; even with the new inheritance. His son was on a one-way trip to a _Liberal Arts Degree_ , and even the thought of it put a horrible taste in his mouth. He was also being forced into a think tank, and that was making his anxiety go through the roof.

Sighing as the elevator doors slid open he walked through the hallway towards his living room. He found himself standing across from Brock, who was lounging with his VenTech Pad.

“Need something Doc?” questioned Brock distractedly.

Rusty looked down at his face, and followed the long blonde lashes that obscured those blue eyes. The illumination made him look like an angel, and his hair looked like a soft blonde halo.

“I was heading over to go pack, and I figured I’d swing by the bar for a Doc-tail.” Doc turned on his heel and swaggered behind the bar, “It’ll give me some inspiration on what outfits to bring. I have to be commanding, yet understated.”

“You ever think that maybe you should use less grenadine in that drink? Maybe some club soda as the base? Or Big Red, if you really want something red.”

Doc snorted at the suggestion of replacing anything with his precious grenadine. “Ugh, replace the grenadine? I want thick, sweet syrup down my throat. Is that too much to ask?” Doc glanced over at Brock whose eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Anyways” He murmured while making his way up the stairway, “Like I said, I have to go pack.”

With final glance, Doc noticed Brock scoff at his comment before settling back down with his VenTech Pad. He continued walking until he found himself pressed up behind his door, holding it shut with his back as his free hand crossed over his heaving chest. His anxiety had been uncontrolled as of late, and at this moment his trembling hand could barely keep his Ruddy Bottom in the glass.

Rushing over the restroom he began to pull open all the drawers and frantically rummaging through each one. At least until he reached the last drawer in the restroom and found a familiar pill bottle. It’s been ages since he’s found counsel with his method of decompressing; the last time he indulged was after he found out his home was burnt to the ground.

Fumbling the bottle open, he looked up to his reflection while placing two mismatched pills on his tongue. Chasing them with Ruddy Bottom, Rusty placed his forehead against the cool marble countertop. Chest heaving, kneeling on the floor, and drink abandoned on the counter; Rusty fought to relax his mind. He fought helplessly against the waves of anxiety.

Tomorrow he would be upstate with his team, and their position to the super science community could be torn apart in an instant. He’s seen it happen first hand, after all he was the son of the great Jonas Venture! It was customary to bring your offspring and show off their science savvy knowledge and talent. He could at least claim to be a competent boy adventurer during his younger years, which was an admirable quality to this community. Some children couldn’t even competently be child adventurers. Those children usually suffered from deformity gained through their failures.

Unfortunately for him, both of his sons aren’t ready for this encounter. One was literally missing; he ran off after being admitted to the hospital. The other is fighting to become a _Liberal Arts_ Major. This wasn’t going to end well for anyone, so Rusty could only hope that Dean will be able to hold his own against everyone else’s brats.

Rusty pushed himself up off the ground and dragged himself to his bed; where an empty suitcase laid open. He’d procrastinated for the last two weeks, and it was because the crippling anxiety surrounding the event made him avoid the subject altogether. He started preparing yesterday and had to have everything ready by Monday evening. It was already Sunday night.

Absentmindedly, he began to toss underwear and socks into his suitcase. He wasn’t very well versed on the current super science community, and he wasn’t up to date on _any_ of the latest technological advancements. He could at least know that the basic departments of super science were still intact. Although, this was useless information if we didn’t know the caliber of these teams.

Zipping up his suitcase he noted that he didn’t put together any outfits in the end; just an assortment of random clothes and toiletries. Now this when he felt the anxiety medication finally kicking in. He no longer felt the overwhelming pressure of needing to have perfectly coordinated outfits.

If this is what two pills could do, imagine how much more balanced he feels once he supplements some more. Another set of mismatched pills make their way to the front of his tongue, and he chases them down with the backwash of his Ruddy Bottom. His vision dimming slightly while swallowing the last sip of syrup.

_Everything Sounds Like an Echo._

_D…O…C..? Do-oc..? Doc..? Doc?_ Doc? “Doc?”

Brock's husky voice broke through the faint buzzing that was overwhelming his senses. He faintly felt a pair of rough hands firmly grasp his shoulders and harshly shake his limp body. “This isn’t the time Doc. Wake up! We need to start getting ready to go!”

As he slowly cracked his eyes open Rusty found himself blinded by a sunset. He silently cursed Brock for opening the blasted curtain. Having his dead brother as an alarm clock was bad, but being manhandled awake by his bodyguard was a pretty close second place.

“You have to get up to get ready! It’s almost go time. Hatred is already downstairs with H.E.L.P.e.R and Pirate.” Brock assisted Doc to his feet and smoothed his speed suit down with his hands; making the man he was touching shudder, “We just need you and your bags, and then we’ll be good to go. Everyone one who is coming with is already on the plane.”

With a soft grunt, Rusty propped himself up on Brock’s shoulder while the bodyguard grabbed his suitcase. Shuffling to the doorway, Rusty swallowed down the rest of his anxiety with an uncomfortably dry mouth as he crossed the door frame.


	2. Dean-ial Of Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The members of VenTech have been invited to the Rolling Hills Science Collective; what should have been the greatest Think-Tank to ever be launched. Dr. Venture brings his family and chief inventors to rub elbows with the "new-school" super science community. Little does he know, this Think-Tank will open the door to an old mystery, a new murder, and some unexpected romance.

**Something Stereotypical**

Part 1: On Our Father’s Coattails

Chapter 2: Dean-ial of Reality

There has been a sinking feeling in Dean’s gut ever since he lost Hank at the hospital. When his brother walked out on them. It was a deep cut that just wouldn’t stop aching. Somewhere as momentous and foreign as this without his other half was unnerving.

“Are you listening, boy?” His father casually insulted him from the front of the plane, “They’ll eat you alive the minute they realize you’re a Venture. We’re back in the super science game, so please remember that. No _Liberal Arts_ talk, understand?”

Dean nodded hollowly as his father continued the same rant he had been stuck on since the beginning of the flight. ‘Do not shame him’ was the basic gist. At least he wasn’t alone; his father had made a point to insult his make-shift team as well. Apparently, everyone is getting “eaten alive” at this thing.

Lost in thought, Dean was faced with a massive property glaring back up at him. Hank would have made a comment about Draculas’ being in their temporary home. He would have been so amped about becoming vampire hunters.

“Alright people!” Announced Dr. Venture gripping onto Brock’s left shoulder, “We’re about to land! Everyone look alive! When you step off this plane remember that _you_ represent VenTech _and_ the Venture name!”

“He says this, but watch, he’ll make the biggest scene out of us all…” muttered Billy.

Dean wondered if anyone else noticed the closeness between his father and his bodyguard. Normally, his father would be barely standing upright in the aisle, but with Brock’s left arm hooked around his waist he seemed immovable. His father rarely allowed his children to display any affection towards him. What would Hank think?

“Please brace for landing. Keep all tray tables in upright position and all seatbelts intact” commanded an automated voice overhead. The cabin shook and Dean’s fingers instinctively dug his armrest. Sometimes Dean would internally revert to his depressed alternative phase. He would dwell on how maybe everything would be easier if he just died. Or if the plane would suddenly crash. He could finally escape the feeling of impending doom that had settled itself into his life. Unfortunately for him, they made a perfect landing.

Dean was the last person to rise from his seat. Weakly dragging his carryon behind him, they found a small welcoming party waiting on their arrival in the snow. Five plain looking women dressed in black servant dresses stood below with their skirts gusting in the icy wind.

“Welcome Venture family.” The first woman’s crisp voice cut through the storm, “Welcome to the Rolling Hill’s Science Collective. My name is Madame Bathory and I will be leading you to the site. Please leave your luggage and cargo here. Our teams will work to put everything in your living and working quarters. Now, follow me.” A bustle of employees emerged from the woodwork and began unpacking their jet.

Dean and his family were split into two groups and herded into bright yellow snow-coaches. Bundling into his seat, Dean felt the rumble of the vehicle underneath him as it climbed the snowy trail. From his window, he could see a small cluster of lights flickering behind the trees at the peak of the mountain. With the thick foliage surrounding them and the steep incline, it looked like they were trekking up a giant Christmas tree; trying to reach the star at the end.

“Dean!” Billy’s shrill voice jarred Dean out of his daydream, “Did your father give you any names of the other scientists that will be there?”

“Um,” Dean looked over at his travel mates for the voyage. Billy was turned around in his seat, looking down at him. Bundled in a dark brown puffy jacket and large wool scarf, with his bright red nose poking over the top.

“Earth to Dean! Come in, Dean!” called Pete, waving his nylon glove in Dean’s face, “What’s up with you kid? One semester in college and you’re already huffing glue?”

“Stop it” grumbled Dean as he swatted Pete’s away, “I don’t know who is going to be there. I guess it’s supposed to be a secret. Pop doesn’t even know who is going to be there. He said: _it’s all very hush hush_ ”.

Billy plopped back down into his seat with a huff. Pete quickly followed suit, but not without giving Dean a sympathetic shrug.

“It just seems super sketchy to have one of these things out here. Especially at that property! Do you even know what happened on that property? Does Rolling Hills Asylum ring any bells?!” Billy’s face morphed into one of horror at Pete’s blank stare, “DUDE! Where all those human experiments happened?”

“Oh, yeah, I remember that. The raid after that place was wild!” Rumbled Hatred from the back row, “Guild thought that the easiest way to contain all the mad scientists was to put them all together. At first it was to see if they could medicate them, and then maybe they could be functioning villains. Long story short, they couldn’t. Instead they hired some third-party mercenary group, doctors, and orderlies to keep them there. Not too long after that decision was made, the mad scientists took over the building. These fellas outsmarted the guild and nobody knew about it for almost _four_ years. They never made a peep, so the guild left them alone and everyone assumed everything was fine. Of course, nothing was fine.”

“It’s worse than that” Billy continued, running his hand through his hair, “They were up and running for so long that they tricked people into admitting their family and friends to the asylum. Men, women, _and_ children were experimented on. The body count was in the hundreds. They say that the scientists ran out of room on the property and started to bury people in the forest!”

Shaking his head Pete scoffed at their declarations, “Alright guys, this is starting to sound like a ghost story. Why would they pick a place with all that bad history to host this?”

“To deter anyone else from coming” answered Hatred slowly.

Dean pressed his face against the glass to view the sparkling lights that lured him earlier. Now he could see a distinct smear of red sparkling in the snow. Like what a hunter sees through the end of his rifle after a shot.

Pete and Billy’s bickering quickly faded into the soft hum of the vehicle. Why were they split in uneven numbers? Why wasn’t he placed with his immediate family? Why were Pop and Brock alone in the other truck? Why were the people who welcomed them dressed up like mid-century housemaids? Hank would have had a field day with this kind of backstory. Hank wouldn’t have been anxious about it at all.

“Dean!” Hatred’s broad hand was tightly clamped on his shoulder, “You’re really freaking us out, son. Is something on your mind?”

“No” croaked Dean, “I’m ok. Any idea when we’ll get there?”

“Yeah, we’re pretty much here.”

They approached the massive iron gate creaking open in anticipation of their arrival. The gate seemed to extend deep into the forest on either side; disappearing into the darkness of the trees. In front of them was a massive property with several redbrick buildings connected by narrow walkways. Each window seemed to be leering down at them.

The snowcoach came to a halt at the entrance of the building. Dean was disappointed to find that the entrance to the notorious building was very dimly lit. Snapping out of his daze, Dean was once again the last person to leave the vehicle. Upon exiting he was relieved to find Brock and Pop shivering in the snow.

“VenTech.” Curtly began Madame Bathory, “Before we enter I would like to stress that our host does not want any information made public. This is a closed think-tank. You will find that your phones will not work to connect to the outside world. Only the computers, smart pads, and phones provided by the facility will be able to do searches using the internet. There are restrictions on which websites and phone numbers may be used. Those deemed unacceptable will be blocked. Understood?”

Dean faintly heard his father’s displeased snort “Yes, yes, of course. This is all very _hush hush_.”

The heavy wooden doors creaked to life as they swung open. Dull yellow light engulfed them, and Dean could feel his body gravitating towards the warm embrace of the entrance room.

Dean hadn’t felt warm in a long time. He didn’t feel warm when he was with Sirena. It was hot and rushed, but that feeling of _warmth_ was missing. After it was all said and done all Dean could feel was the icy cold feeling that gripped his heart as his brother peered down on him. Hank’s eyes should have been cold that night. They were full of confusion and pain, but they radiated with that underlying warmth. That was the last time Dean remembers feeling warm. He may never see Hank again, and all he wanted to do at this moment was find him. It was getting harder to breathe. Who was going to explore this castle with him? Who is going to tell him that they can get the bad guys? When will Hank come back? Would he be the Dues Ex Machina in this story? He was trying to swim away from this cold sinking feeling, but the weight on his chest kept him planted.

_Wake up Dean. Wake up Dean. Wake up Dean. Wake up Dean._

“Wake up Dean!” Dean was surprised to find himself looking up at his father. The cold was biting against his back as he laid spread eagle. Hatred and Brock hoisted him off the floor and gently led him through the threshold of the doorframe, “Dean, you and I are going to have to have a talk about this hippy flipping, or whatever you’re doing, boy.”

“Everyone else will be headed for supper now, so, please follow me. Afterwards we’ll show you to your rooms, and your luggage should already be placed there. Tomorrow you will be shown to your work areas.” The doors closed firmly on these words.


	3. Rusty Social Skills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The members of VenTech have been invited to the Rolling Hills Science Collective; what should have been the greatest Think-Tank to ever be launched. Dr. Venture brings his family and chief inventors to rub elbows with the "new-school" super science community. Little does he know, this Think-Tank will open the door to an old mystery, a new murder, and some unexpected romance.

**Something Stereotypical**

Part 1: On Our Father’s Coattails

Chapter 3: Rusty Social Skills

Shared work stations. This was a phrase Rusty Venture did not want to hear first thing in the morning. After a humiliating dinner and terrible night sleep, all Dr. Venture wanted to do was crawl back under the sheet. At least until it was all over.

“It looks like we’ll be neighbors, my friend.” Gently commented the heavily accented man to his left. Out of the corner of his, eye Rusty could make out a short, sturdily built man. The thick black mustache and dark complexion were his most distinct features.

“Looks like it.”

Rusty could barely remember the previous night due to some _miscalculations_ concerning the drinks being served. Doc was use to drinking his own concoctions, which contained mostly syrup, _not_ the heavy hitters they served here. To save face in his lack of mixed drink knowledge, Rusty opted to just get whatever his nearest neighbor got. His nearest neighbor was the accented man he’s forced to share space with now, and this neighbor wanted whiskey on the rocks for _every single drink_ _he ordered._ As far as Rusty knew, the constant whiskey refills hadn’t even touched his neighbor.

“The food this morning was alright. “Lazily drawled an equally dark complected girl to his son, “I think the early morning wakeup call was uncalled for, though.”

“So, my friend. You’ll have to excuse me, but I don’t remember your name.” The mustached man made his way to Rusty’s side.

“Thaddeus Venture. The CEO of VenTech and retired _boy adventurer_. You know, the Rusty Venture show.” Answered Dr. Venture primly.

“Ah, I see.” Rusty’s stomach flipped uneasily as he watched the man take a swig from the flask concealed in front pocket of his lab coat. “My name is Fernando Santos, of De Los Santos Industries. We specialize in biomedical engineering.”

“And paranormal investigations.” Rusty found business card pressed under his nose by a delicate hand, “Yari Santos; part-time biochemical engineer and part-time paranormal investigator.”

“Ah” signed Dr. Santos in defeat and quickly added, “this is my daughter, Yari. She’s works with me as one of my engineers. The paranormal thing… ah… that’s something she does for her mother.”

“Huh.” Rusty eyed her warily. It was pleasantly surprising to see that in every super science family there are a few odd ducks. Or, at least maybe there’s that _rebellious_ phase in every super science household at some point. He had a long streak with his father; saying he wasn’t interested in super science.

“Let’s see what they’ve unpacked from our boxes.” Rusty followed as Fernando escorted his daughter back to the work station by the back of her curly head.

“Well, you know, everything we brought were failed experiments of my late brother.” Rusty pointed to the unpacked inventions. Rusty watched Dr. Santos’ offspring twirl out of her father’s grasp and lazily sling an arm around Dean’s shoulder from the corner of his eye. She was whispering in his ear with a slick grin plastered across her face. Dean’s freckles were highlighted by the flush across his cheeks.

“We brought a few inventions from each division of the company. Each of my nephews will be representing their fathers place, or at least the ones that bothered to come.” Fernando extended his flask out to Rusty with a deep rumbling sigh.

“So, any thought in what invention you’re going to repurpose?” Billy came between Rusty and Fernando. Rusty plucked the flask out Dr. Santos’ hand and took a long swig before pushing it back in his Spanish neighbor’s hand.

“Not yet” muttered Dr. Venture, “I figured we would… sort through it all?”

Rusty noted his neighbors rich chuckle as they approached his various dilapidated inventions. God Gas, Nano Bots, the Boom Broom, the Walking Eye, the Oo-ray, the Thermal Regulation Suppository, and various other inventions shined with anticipation.

“What about you?” countered Rusty as he leaned over to see his neighbors space.

“I think my main concentration with be the recovery pod and the recovery gel. They are both for traumas; so, like motor vehicle accidents, large scale burns, or bullet wounds.” Fernando placed his hand affectionately over the massive tank to their right.

“A recovery tank? How very humanitarian.” Interrupted a young man with southern drawl, “I thought you folks concentrated on biological warfare. It’s a dang shame to see _this_ from you.”

“And who exactly are you?” Rusty turned, hands on his hips, to the glossy champagne-blonde male in annoyance.

“Now Teddy” an older male approached with sparkling blue eyes, “Let’s show our good manners, shall we? This is supposed to be a cooperative gathering, son.”

The older, obviously southern, gentleman extended his hand out to both Dr. Venture and Dr. Santos for a firm handshake. “My name is Theodore W. Aime VII, and we own Oak Valley Production. We specialize in armed forced weaponry and military advancement.” Theodore heavy hand lands on his offspring’s shoulder, “This is Theodore W. Aime VIII. My son and heir to the company. It’s a family company, you see.”

Dr. Venture did not like the shit-eating smirk grew on the young man’s face. Teddy Sr. strolled over to Dr. Venture’s table of smaller inventions, and Rusty noticed as the older man’s hand lingering over the God Gas contained as he traced his hands across the items.

“Teddy.” The elder Aime’s man twirled his finger around the end of his large white mustache, “Why don’t you acquaint yourself with the other young men and women here. I think the first day is best suited for proper introductions and getting to know each other. Now I, myself, am going to go introduce myself to the others on the far tables, if you gentlemen wanted to join me. Last night’s festivities were a bit of a blur for me, as the beverages were a little _heavy handed_.” Rusty observed rosy flush to Theodore Sr. cheeks at mentioning the previous night, “If you’re interested, I can show you fellas to my area as well. I brought a few of my favorite inventions!”

Rusty let out a little sniff at the idea of approaching the other scientists and inventors. This lookie-loo behavior is how the espionage started, but Rusty could not deny that everyone’s best and worst cards seemed to be laid out in clear view. “Give me a few moments with my team. I’ll meet you _gentlemen_ in a few moments.”

Rusty turned walked over to his team to find that only Billy and Pete were present. “Where is everyone?” he hissed vehemently to what was left of VenTech.

“Well, pally, Dean walked off with the other kids” Pete pointed at Dean’s retreating form and Rusty was annoyed to see Dr. Santos’ spawn still had her arm around his shoulder, “Hatred and Brock went out for a smoke or something with some of the other body guards.”

“Alright” growled Rusty through gritted teeth, “You two go mingle with the other auxiliary members. Make sure to always take account of everyone you’re with, always. When someone leaves the group one of you two have got to keep a tab on where they are. Trust none of them.” Tapping the tip of his nose Rusty added a final whisper, “ _Espionage_.”

Dr. Venture quickly strode over to the trail of scientists trailing to the center of the room. All those approaching were of different backgrounds and experiences. Rusty could hear Theodore Sr.’s booming laugh as he approached them. “You know kids these days!” Theodore Sr.’s beaming blue eyes quickly landed on Rusty, “Ah! Dr. Venture! Take a seat, please! It looks as though our good friend Dr. Santos is our mystery mixologist from last night!”

Fernando gently placed a glass of warm whiskey into Rusty’s open hand with an infectious chuckle. “Yes my friend, we were talking about our children.”

“I was just telling them about my Teddy.” Letting out a contented sigh, “He’s brilliant at engineering guns, ray beams, and he even dabbles in some robotics. It’s amazing to watch him work, and you know a good education can mean a lot. But you know…” Shaking his head Theodore made a disappointed tsk, “He has a flare for the dramatic. Anytime anything happens it just becomes a big production, and his temper gets a little bit out of hand.”

“Anger, no matter how hot it is, can never cook a yam.” The even darker complected man seated next to Dr. Santos spoke. “Well, at least your son takes things seriously. Mine has a doctorate in nuclear physics, but still, he wastes time with making doodles! There are more important things that he should be concentrating on to further his career.”

Taking this opportunity to assert his presence by doing a quick introduction to each new member and quickly memorizing their names, titles, demeanors, and _details_. The environmental chemist and engineer, Dr. Tang Seng of Tripotaka Incorporated. Octave and Phileas Fabron whose latest findings in nuclear chemistry has re-entered the world into the scientific renaissance of _transmutation_. Dr. Julius Ghost who was an Astrophysicist, Astrobiologist, _and_ astronaut; was notably _also_ a past boy adventurer. The current leader in robotics Dr. Gisela Eisen, whom was one of the few recognized female mechanical engineers in the world. The Nigerian man who had just finished lamenting about his son was Dr. Bitrus Obi, who a prominent nuclear physicist. 

“Tell us Dr. Venture.” Dr. Obi plopped down into a wooden chair, “Did the long lineage of super science help reduce the rowdiness of your young one?”

Rusty watched as his son cheer with several other young men and women as they figured out how to uncover the observatory to reveal a snowy day. Suddenly he felt less nervous, but still a little wary of his audience who stared expectantly.

“Dean…” Dr. Venture up as a few crows flew overhead, “He’s definitely engaged with VenTech’s _speculative_ engineering and has been a very valuable member of my team. He’s still in school for a science degree, but he’s dabbling with writing and… hem… journalism, I believe.” Theodore Sr. shook his head in sympathetically, “ _However_ , I’d like to cultivate that love and maybe allow him to spend his spare time working on… _marketing_? He understands that in this industry you have to make statements, otherwise you’ll be yesterday’s news.”

Rusty was shocked to see a few of his scientists smile and clap. Gisela patted his arm encouragingly and responded breathily, “Wunderbar, Doctor Venture. It is refreshing to see a parent in super science want to utilize their child’s passion.”

“Isn’t that what we all crave? A little _understanding_? A little _opportunity_?" Dr. Venture placed his arm around Dr. Eisen’s shoulder and bringing the glass of whiskey to his lips.

"One more question, Dr. Venture. If you don't mind me asking." Theodore W. Aime VII downed the remainder of his drink, "Who was that large man who carried you off to bed last night. He picked you up like a little princess." Teddy Sr. chuckled at Dr. Venture's horrified expression, "Now, now, Dr. Venture! We are men, _and women_ , of science. You can be open with us Dr. Venture, the super science world values _tolerance_ now, after all."

Rusty sputtered at Theodore's accusation, and the whiskey dribbled down his beard. Suddenly Thaddeus S. Venture felt a wave of nostalgia that was masked under the guise of shame and nausea. An amount of shame that only Jonas Venture Sr. had ever provided to him. Suddenly, Rusty couldn't breathe.


	4. Pilgramage into the Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The members of VenTech have been invited to the Rolling Hills Science Collective; what should have been the greatest Think-Tank to ever be launched. Dr. Venture brings his family and chief inventors to rub elbows with the "new-school" super science community. Little does he know, this Think-Tank will open the door to an old mystery, a new murder, and some unexpected romance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nursing home client once told me that they hadn't been outside in years. That they couldn't recall the last time rain touched their skin. Naturally, on the next day that there was some rain, I made time to take them outside. They touched the rain and let it sprinkle across their face. They sniffed the air and tasted the droplets. I think they were trying to remember every aspect of the rain, and I think they were trying so hard because they feared never being able to experience it again.

**Something Stereotypical**

Part 1: On Our Father’s Coattails

Chapter 4: Pilgrimage into the Unknown

Billy was pissed, and when Billy gets like this he can get a little… vocal? Pete only knew this because he tended to be on the receiving end of Billy’s tongue lashings when things got stressful. Pete wouldn’t call it abusive; it felt more like insecure aggression. Kind of like the dogs Caesar Milan would jab into a “ _submissive calm state_ ”. Billy probably needed that jab right about now.

“This is some bullshit. He’s rubbing elbows with literally some of the greatest minds on the planet. The guy who didn’t even know a _Segway_ was a thing.” Pete winced as Billy’s elbow collided with his thigh, “Dean ran off with the can only be assumed to be a boy adventurer’s wet dream. He’s going to go explore this spooky-ass place with good-looking _girls_. Brock and Hatred are having a smoke with international bodyguards. What are _we_ doing, White? Sitting at th-the fucking _kiddie table_.”

Pete observed that the auxiliary crews were gathered in a smaller room across from the main Observatory. None of them looked notably good-looking or interesting. A few were grouped together in close conversation and casual touch.

“I dunno, Billy. These guys could be cool. I mean, it looks like everyone is getting along. Maybe we should go say hi?”

“Damn it, White!” hissed Billy with a glare fixed fiercely on Pete, “Those are not people. Those _things_ are background characters and we are not going to get caught up in that crap.”

“What are you even talking about Billy? You’re acting crazy. Let’s just go introduce ourselves at least.”

“Why!?” Billy whispered outraged, “Why do we care who they are? Don’t you fucking get it Pete?! We got lumped in with the _background characters_ ; literally no one cares about who these people are. We will not even need to remember their names. We probably won’t talk to them or hear of them again.”

“Wow, pally. I’m shocked. They’re people too!”

“No, White. We are different!” Billy gruffly pulled Pete to exit, “We are main characters now. We are Billy Quiz Boy and the Pink Pilgrim! We are level one protagonists. _We_ deserve a good adventure just like any of the others, and I’ll be damned if we stay behind with the pit crew.”

Pete always had a hard time denying Billy of anything; usually due to underlying guilt relating to their rather turbulent past.

“Alright…” Muttered Pete as he peered down the dark rabbit hole that Billy was leading him down, “But we have to go back to them at some point. Rusty wanted us to keep an eye on these guys.”

“Yeah, yeah!” agreed Billy distractedly as he continued to tug Pete along, “We’ll be back in time for them to still be doing nothing.”

The hallway was long and winding. Pete couldn’t make out the end, and a feeling of dread was settling in the pit of his stomach. “Jesus, pal. I can’t even see my own nose.”

There was nothing recognizable around him. There were just distant objects hidden within the shadows. Pete could have sworn they were passing by doors, but he couldn’t muster the courage to reach out and verify that claim.  
  


“Isn’t it a little ridiculous for us to wander around without a map?” muttered Pete as Billy’s grip tightened on the leg on his pant. Pete briefly turned around and noted that he could still very faintly see where that had entered.

“Well, it’s not like those creepy maids gave us a map of this place” hissed Billy. “Did you already forget how long it took us to find our rooms? I’m shocked Brock carried Rusty the _entire time_. We walked around for hours… stupid maids.”

Pete hadn’t forgotten. After dinner, the housekeepers didn’t come back to show anyone to their rooms. At first everyone herded together, and this was mainly because nearly ninety percent of the group were totally shit-faced at that point. The other ten percent were below the legal age to drink, so they had to basically be designated drivers for the adults.

“I feel like there should be a light switch around here somewhere. I don’t understand why they want to keep _non-work areas_ so dark. Where the hell is our host and why is he so fucking cheap.”

Madame Bathory had informed them that some areas of the manor, which were deemed “non-essential areas”, would not always be provided with power. Pete’s logical mind told him it was to reduce wasted power in such a massive place. Pete’s paranoia, on the other hand, was telling him that they were being herded like sheep; straying from the group would lead to their early demise.

_Pitter-patter… Pitter-patter… Pitter-patter… Pitter-patter…_

For a moment Pete froze. Something was moving around them. It was very quiet and barely noticeable, but still there. He could feel Billy tug him forward by his pant leg. Pete reluctantly continued to follow.

“Come on, White. We need to get to the next area. Maybe there will be light in, like, a main area.”

Ever since Billy had gone on that mission with Rusty, he’s been different. Billy never disclosed what happened that that mission, but when he came back he was insistent that they start acting like real _super-science adventurers_. He wanted to be authentic, or so he kept saying.

Pete had to admit he felt a little hurt at the accusation that all their previous adventures weren’t _real_ enough. They sure had felt real to him. It sure looked real to him too, you know, considering Billy’s partial bionic body.

Truth be told, Pete was a little relieved when Rusty had but them both on duty with the auxiliary crew. He was glad that they hadn’t been separated. He was happy that Rusty wasn’t going to whisk away his buddy on some secret mission again. It was no secret that Billy would do _anything_ for his idol, Rusty Venture.

It was no secret that Rusty wasn’t a man of many scruples. Pete had known him long enough to be well acquainted with this reality. It’s not like Pete didn’t love Rusty; they had known each other since college, of course he loved him. That was just the problem, their relationship wasn’t only lengthy; it was also very complicated. He and Rusty weren’t too far off on personality; they both got off on being wanted and worshiped. Pete remembers when the Quizboys’ would do _anything_ for their favorite host. Then again, so did Billy... probably.

_Pitter-patter… Pitter-patter… Pitter-patter… Pitter-patter…_

“Did you hear that?” lisped Billy.

Pete shakily nodded as his pace quickened. He was too afraid to turn around this point, and paranoia was winning the tug of war against logic. Pete couldn’t even fathom what could possibly be behind them. This place was so huge and creepy, there was nothing intuitive about the layout. Just a huge endless hallway with theoretical doors.

That maid hadn’t outright said if there was anyone else in the manor or not. It had been assumed. Pete could see the dark blobs in the room that he had assumed to be furniture twist into the form of people. People hidden behind shadows watching them scurry deeper and deeper into the darkness. The shadow people can see through the darkness; their eyes had already adjusted. Pete’s eyes still haven’t adjusted.

Pete could hear his heart pounding in his ears and felt it rattling against his chest. He needed to go faster. He could feel whatever was behind him was gaining speed. He could practically feel it’s breath puffing against the back of his neck.

_Pitter-patter… Pitter-patter… Pitter-patter… Pitter-patter…_

It was louder, louder than before, and Pete could only assume that’s because it was getting closer. It was reaching out to touch him, and it was a hair away from reaching the collar of his shirt.

Pete suddenly wished he hadn’t listened to Billy. He didn’t want to have this kind of adventure. Saint Cloud was one thing; he was ridiculous at best. The kid literally needed rubber _panties_ as to not visibly piss his pants. That’s not a real threat. Whatever is lurking in these dark hallways, _that_ was a threat.

He was full on running now. Pete felt like he couldn’t get away fast enough; he could not escape the sheer terror that pressed against his chest. His breaths were short and jagged. He could faintly hear his wheezing behind the heavy thuds he had assumed to be his heartbeat. He was an idiot. That wasn’t the sound of a heartbeat; those heavy thuds were _footsteps_. Pete was sure that he was about to die. He could feel it against every goosebump that covered his body.

“B-Billy” panted Pete, “Turn on your phone light, pally.”

“Billy?”

Pete came to a shocking halt as his body collided into a solid surface. The first point of contact being his nose. He bounced off of the wall and landed in a heap against the floor.

_Pitter-patter… Pitter-patter… Pitter-patter… Pitter-patter…_

“Billy!” shrieked White, shooting upright.

“Whoa there, friend.” Pete’s eyesight was blurry, he could barely make-out the figure in front of him, “Take it easy, or your nose will end up bleeding again. It just stopped.”

Pete was back in the light, and he seemed to be sitting up on a workbench. He could taste his own blood at the back of his throat and his nose was throbbing in pain.

“Where is Billy?”

“I’m not sure where your friend it. We only found you because you ran right into the door. Scared the daylights out of us.”

Pete squinted up at the plain face before him, “Who are you?”

“Oh, I forgot you two disappeared before we got properly introduce ourselves.” He patted Pete on the back roughly, “My name is Davie, and I’m part of the Fabron’s crew.”

Pete watched a blur of people took his hand with a firm shake to introduce themselves. When they were finished, they seemed to expectantly stare at him for his introduction.

“Oh, uh.” Pete could feel one of his loose front teeth wiggle as he spoke, “I’m Pete White, and I’m with VenTech. My buddy, who was with me, is Billy Quizboy. I have to find him.”

He struggled to maneuver himself off the work bench, but only to meet resistance. He could feel all their hands touch his arms and shoulders simultaneously; gently holding him down.

“Nonsense, friend.” Chirped Davie, “We have to wait here.”

“What?” Pete could feel the dread forming a lump in his throat, “Wait for what?”

“For the end.”

“The end?” echoed Pete.

“We won’t have much say. So, we might as well wait until the end.” Davie awkwardly laughed down at Pete with a sympathetic gaze, “They won’t remember our names anyway.”

_Pitter-patter… Pitter-patter… Pitter-patter… Pitter-patter…_

Pete could hear the noise against his ears again, but this time it was deafening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I obviously didn't hold up to my previously set expectation. I can only blame these next chapters on social distancing.


	5. The Adventures of Dean Venture, part one.

Something Stereotypical

Part 1: On Our Father’s Coattails

_Now begins The Adventures of Dean Venture, part one!_

Dean stiffly walked side by side with his new companion, whose perfectly manicured hand gently held onto the crook of his arm. He could smell the wafts of her perfume as they creeped down the hallway. She smelt sweeter than Sirena and her voice was just above a whisper.

“This place is a little ominous.” Muttered Teddy Jr. behind them.

“I mean… people died here. A lot of people, and in a not so nice way.” Fretted his companion as she pressed her body into his arm, “I don’t think we should be down here. What do you think, Dean?”

Dean was mesmerized by her gentle voice. She stared at him through dark, glistening eyes; her brow furrowed. He found himself watching her fingers, each tipped with powder-pink nail polish, and twirling the smooth ends of her hair.

“Um, I… Um.”

“Well, we _could_ turn around, but don’t you think eventually we’ll go all over the property? We’re here for, like, a whole month.”

Their leader was now facing Dean with a pleasantly stoned gaze. Her hands resting behind her head as walked backwards. Yari had been insistent on exploring the basement, and she was disappointed in Dean’s initial hesitation. Dean had been quickly educated that, historically, everyone who qualified as “boy-adventurers” would lead “wicked adventures” during think-tanks; real coming of age tales. Dean was sure that Hank would have fulfilled that role, had he been here.

“I think the only thing we’ll find down here is going to be dust and mold.” Sneered Teddy from behind, “Our living conditions are absolutely deplorable. What we have on our hands is a poor host.”

“How are you walking down the stairs backwards?” asked Dean.

“I’m actually teetering at death’s door. I could’ve fallen and broken my neck at any moment.” Yari grinned at him before pivoting back around at the last step.

They all piled at the bottom of the dimly lit stairwell facing large, metal double doors. Dean watched as his counterparts grew quiet; no one made a move towards moving forward. Hank would have been the first one in, and he’d probably have a hilariously corny line to serve.

“Oh for heaven’s sake.” Muttered Teddy, shoving past all of them to finally open the door to the much-anticipated basement; they were faced with a fork in the road. Two towering archways, one leading to another stairwell and the other veered down a dark hallway.

“Well” sighed Teddy impatiently while roughly prodding Dean’s rib, “Split up or stay together?”

“How should I know?”

“Well aren’t you a _boy-adventurer_? Isn’t that your whole shtick? You and your brother run around together? Have _fantastic_ adventures, or whatever it is you two do in the dark.”

“Excuse me?” snapped Dean, “What _exactly_ do you mean by that?” He could feel his face heating up with indignation. His fists clenched at his side and trembling with rage. Whatever this guys was insinuating was pissing Dean off. He had made Dean angrier than Dermot had, when they first met, and that’s saying a lot.

“Tsk” Teddy rolled his perfectly blue eyes at Dean, “Don’t be like that now. I’m just pulling your leg, you know? Giving you a hard time.”

_What would Dean Venture choose?! Could he live up to the hype?_

“Whatever” muttered Dean, “Let’s split up then.” Dean turned to his previous walking partner only to have her quickly pulled away by Yari. He couldn’t help but note the pinkish hue to her cheeks as she was locked into a possessive embrace.

“Sorry, Dean.” Yari smiled cheekily at his annoyed expression, “Lena comes with me this round. I think the stairwell leads to the morgue. You guys can check out what’s at the end of the hallway.”

“Oh no, Yari” moaned Lena in despair, “Please, no, not here. Do it with someone else for once - No!”

“Sh.” Giving Dean a suggestive wink, Yari gently placed her hand over Lena’s mouth as she slowly backed into the side hallway with the struggling girl, “No need to spoil the secret. Let’s meet back here in thirty minutes.”

Dean sighed through his nose as he felt a firm hand squeeze his shoulder. “Well, it looks like the ladies have left us door number two, shall we?” 

Dean glumly followed his partner through the archway; noting the sway in his hips as he sauntered forward. This was less than ideal for the whole “boy adventure” storyline. Dean was supposed to get paired with Lena, and they were supposed to have their first romantic encounter. He wasn’t supposed to be lumped in with the haughty side character; it was almost like Dean wasn’t even the main character in his own story.

_Could Dean Venture get back in time to get the girl, and save the day?_

“Well don’t dally.” Drawled Teddy, “Goodness, you’re like a turkey looking up at rain, aren’t you? Do you always doze off like that?”

“I’m just thinking, um, lost in thought.” What is this guy’s problem? The ideal conditions, at this point, would explicitly include silence. They look around, and then they meet back up with the girls. Period.

“It looks like you’re having seizures.” 

“What are you talking about? Don’t be dramatic. It’s not like I’m convulsing.”   
  


“An absent seizure, then.” Dean watched Teddy’s blonde waves bouncing as they stumbled in the dark. Every few moments Dean’s eyes would trail back to his watch, and he found himself counting the seconds. Dean wanted to be alone with Lena, or at least to stay in a group; not stuck with this spoiled brat.

“I know this is not an _ideal_ partnership.” Teddy lazily waved his flashlight into the darkness, “At least you’re not the _worst_ one to end up with. In my opinion at least.”

“Oh, yeah?” Replied Dean dryly.

“Oh yes, you were definitely my second choice.”

“What? Why?” Dean didn’t know a lot about Teddy Jr., and quite honestly he wasn’t comfortable with being left alone with him. Teddy seemed passive-aggressive and mean spirited, at best. He didn’t seem too convinced by their adventure, yet here he was insisting that they truck forward. Dean was a nervous to see what Teddy was so eager to get to.

“Of course!” Teddy exclaimed as the neared a set of large wooden double doors, “I’d rather be chasing phantoms, but I would like think that you would have an adventure, or two, to offer.”

“What do you me-” Dean wasn’t able to finish his sentence as the atrium doors were thrown open, and his eyes immediately tracked to the large surgical steel table placed in the center of the room. Dean couldn’t help but also note that they were surrounded by closed steel cabinets and a large empty tank.

“Now this is _very_ interesting.” Whispered Teddy excitedly as he took Dean’s hand; pulling his reluctant counterpart along. As a kid, Dean always let Hank pull him around by the arm. Back then, Dean used to think that he was Hank’s security blanket. Later, Dean came to realize, rather bitterly, that he had just been Hank’s alibi. 

“Take a lie down, Venture.” Teddy patted the long steel table warmly and smiled encouragingly at Dean. Dean could see his counterparts toothy grin glimmering in the dim lighting.

When Dean didn’t immediately approach the table, he was gently led onto it by Teddy’s warm hands. Such a firm grip reminded him of his ex-roommate, Jared. Sometimes Jared would get into his bed in the middle of night and hold his wrists down. He would cry into the crook of Dean’s neck for hours, and then he would eventually fall asleep. Each time Jared would be long gone by the time he woke up. Dean wanted to talk to Hank about it, but he never found the right moment to bring it up. Would he have been angry? Disgusted?

_Can our boy adventurer overcome his past? Or will it overwhelm him? Stay tuned!_

“There we are.” Muttered Teddy happily as he finished securing the final restraint around Dean’s ankle, “Snug as a bug in a rug. You sure to have an issue with paying attention, don’t you? Are you one of those ADHD kids?”

“Wh-wha-what d-do you think you-you’re -!” Dean’s heart clenched in panic as he began resisting against the thick leather straps binding him down. Suddenly, Dean’s vision was obscured by blinding fluorescent lights.

“I can tell that you and I are going to have to come to an… understanding.” Teddy’s voice dropped an octave as came back to view. His bouncing curls framing his face as he looked down on Dean with a smirk, “This is your first time? Isn’t it?”

Dean panicked as he felt a warm hand creep up his leg and stop on his thigh with a gentle squeeze. His heart was pounding in his ears, and the tears he had been collecting finally slid free. This wasn’t Dean’s first time, and he was just as scared then as he is now. Nothing has changed since his adolescence it seemed.

“I’m s-sorry. Please. Please, stop.” Sobbed Dean as he continued to shake against his restraints, “Don’t…”

“Now, now, no crying here. It’s far too late for that.” The buttons of Dean’s shirt scattered across the room as Teddy tore his shirt open. A large brown duffle bag was placed against Deans torso; as though it was already there, ready for this moment, “You, my innocent little lamb, will serve perfectly for this purpose.”

Dean’s first time was as Baron Underbheit’s captor, and it hadn’t even been with the man himself. He was being cleaned by castrated men, and while one held down his wrists the other loafed his genitals. They were laughing and jovial the entire interaction, but Dean had struggled the whole time to no avail. That was the first non-consensual intimate touch Dean had ever experienced, and the second would be with the man of the hour; right before the wedding.

“Stop! Stop!” shrieked Dean as he thrashed against Teddy’s hands, “I’m going to tell _everyone_ what you’re doing, if you don’t stop!”

“Oh goodness, look at you, thrashing around like a hell-beast! Don’t ruin my good penmanship with all of that wriggling!” Teddy laughed as he jumped onto the table, straddling Dean with a shining object in hand, “Now don’t be such a coward _boy-adventurer_! You’re the best _boy_ for the job! This _is_ your turf, isn’t it?!” 

“Stop! Teddy! Don’t _touch_ me!” Dean could feel foamy spit build up at the corner of his lips as he helplessly cried out for help, “Somebody _save_ me!”

“Crying will get you nowhere, _boy_! You, spawn of _Venture_ , should be excited to be part of this sacred ritual! This is a _privilege_ Dean Venture! Your fucking rite of passage, so open your heart and embrace it!”

Dean was deafened by the sound of his own shrieks of terror as red rolled down his chest. All Dean wanted was for Hank to come bursting through that door; just like he had on his wedding day. After a taste of Dean before the ceremony, he was sure Underbheit was anxiously anticipating the wedding night. He was ready to have Dean as his dirty little secret. Hank wasn’t having it; even after Brock and Pop were captured, Hank came through to save him. Dean begged and prayed for his brother to save him again, but he knew Hank wasn’t come… not after everything that happened.

_Who will come to the aide of our hero? Will this be his last adventurer?_

“I’m surprised your daddy didn’t warn about this. Surely, you know he used to do during think-tanks, right? He was a _little tease_ , just like you are now. Acting absolutely coy and _virginal_.”

The irony was not lost on him; this _was_ the guy his father warned him about. This was the kid that wanted him to “tarnish his family name”, or some insane shit, and for some reason it ticked Dean off. It was bad enough that he was trapped in a haunted asylum with his _father_ , no, now he was trapped in a basement with Colonel Sanders sociopath son.

“Let go of me you _fucking freak_! You _fucking rapist piece of shit_!”

Teddy seemed to freeze above him at the work “rapist”, and Dean was greeted with a cold glare. Tossing his tool back into his bag, Teddy leaned forward and placed his forehead against Dean’s. Dean’s eyes locked with Teddy Jr.’s and his vision was engulfed by icy blue pits.

“Did you just accuse _me_ of inappropriate homosexual behavior, Venture?” purred Teddy down to his prey, “Do you think I’m a _faggot_ , Dean? Is that what you think, you fucking _cuck_?!”

Teddy placed a red-coated hand over Dean’s throat and gradually began to apply pressure. Dean’s screams faded as he was strangled into silence; after a few moments, his vision began to waver. Teddy’s irises began to fade into the darkness of his pupils as Dean finally began fading. Even while getting murdered, all Dean could think about is how disappointed his father was going to be. Shaming him on day one; he was pathetic.

“What the hell is going on here?” Both boys craned their necks to see a disgruntled blonde in the doorway, “Get the hell _off_ him!”

_Who was this mysterious blonde!? Is he friend or foe?_

“This isn’t what you think.” Slowly started Teddy as he carefully climbed off Dean, “This is a misunderstanding, um, just go get Yari and she can help expl-!”

Dean never got to hear the rest of the explanation as he faded into unconsciousness. A cold feeling settled in Dean’s chest as every muscle in his body went limp. Dean wondered if this was like dying was like, and maybe he would eventually stop breathing. That’s when he noticed it; a figure barely visible against the florescent bulbs behind his eyelids. It was approaching with long outstretched arms, and it was reaching out to Dean. Reaching out with a bluish tint and overgrown nails; wanting desperately to touch him.

“You… paint… off..!” Dean could barely hear the panicked screams, “He’ll… you… please..!”

_This concludes part one of The Adventures of Dean Venture! See you next week!_


	6. Venturing the Nightmare

Something Stereotypical

Part 1: On Our Father’s Coattails

Chapter 6: Venturing the Nightmare

Within twenty-four hours, the Venture name has been tarnished at least a half dozen times. If Dr. Venture Sr. were here, he’d say that Rusty brought this tomfoolery upon himself. As though it was he who had embarrassed Jonas all those years ago, and not the other way around. Now that Dean has been exposed to this part of the “boy adventure” lifestyle, Rusty was forced to confront his own trauma. He felt like a ten-year-old and trying to walk a mile is his father’s shoes.

“I tried to warn you, boy.” Chided Rusty as he sat at his son’s bedside, “You’re one of the few ones here with a boy-adventuring legacy. Which makes you a target.”

Dr. Venture remembered his first hazing during a super-science gathering. The other kids had tied him up in the shower with scalding hot water running; they took turns racking his balls with a soap-on-a-rope. Rusty had screamed for someone to come save him, and Colonel Gentleman did eventually find him. However, his godfather also took a turn slapping Rusty’s sac, before setting the him free; one of the many reasons he resented the original Team Venture.

“At least you weren’t the only one.” Lena Ghost-Eisen was also found shirtless, covered in red paint, and screaming bloody-murder. The two culprits claimed that it was all a part of a “paranormal investigation”, and somehow escaped the situation unpunished. Isn’t it convenient how these high-power parents cover their offspring’s shortcomings; it was built into the contract with the Think Tank since his father’s time. Somehow, even now, Rusty was still a piece in Jonas Venture’s game.

“Hm.” Replied Dean from under his covers.

“You won’t be able to avoid the others, boy. You’ll have to either establish dominance or find compromise.” The Action Man had given Rusty a rape whistle after being stripped naked and having his genitals mutilated; apparently, that’s a more viable solution than going home. Venture Sr. was never willing to drop everything for his son, even if it had to do with his safety or mental health; Jonas always protected his reputation first and foremost.

_Don’t you want to make your father proud, Rust?_

“Pop, can I just stay in here for the rest of the day?” Dean barely peeked his eyes from under his blanket, “I’ll come out tomorrow…”

“Alright, I’ll have dinner sent for you tonight, but tomorrow we science!” Rusty awkwardly patted his son’s knee before making his move to leave. Dr. Venture could tell that his son had more to say, but he had never been good at deep emotional conversation. Anyway, he knew exactly what his son was going through; that deep gut-wrenching feeling when you realize your parent can’t help you. Dr. Venture use to think that he would never have children, to avoid disappointing anyone the way he had been his whole life. It’s funny how family dynamics work in cycles.

As Rusty slowly treaded through the hallways, he was engulfed by a sense of nostalgia. He gingerly fiddled with the shredded wallpaper as he passed by. Rusty remembered when the walls were all pristine, and he could still vaguely smell the antiseptic floor cleaners. Back then, all the cleaners they used would give him migraines.

“Doc!” Rusty was snapped out of his thoughts by warm, broad hands, “Slow down, where are you going?”

Looking around, Dr. Venture realized that he had wandered into a dilapidated wing. He stood in front of a familiar doorframe, and was transfixed by the faded numbers above the floor; they were barely visible… as if it had never happened. If it never happened, then why does Rusty’s heart still ache? Why was he still crying?

“Jesus, Doc, what have you been taking?”

“1030…”

“Doc, it’s all speed! It doesn’t matter what your dealer calls it.” Rusty’s gaze was torn from the doorframe and his vision was engulfed by artic, blue pools, “Can you walk?”

_What has daddy told you about taking things from strangers, Rust?_

Rusty didn’t fight as the larger man scooped him up, and he found himself being carried back to his room. He was thankful to have such a strong and reliable person in his life. One of the ways the universe hadn’t completely fucked him over, yet. As their relationship, had continued to develop Rusty had feared he’d eventually scare him off. Especially after Brock had already run off with pseudo-Sphinx and then the eventual returned to neo-O.S.I.

“Are you happy to be back, Brock?” Muttered Rusty into the large man’s chest. Ever since Brock’s return, Rusty has been nervous about becoming too dependent on his bodyguard. It was hard to resist him, because it felt like he was being protected by a Greek god; he seemed powerful and invulnerable to death. Brock always laughed in the face of death, the cocky bastard.

“Of course I love being with you and the boys, Doc.” Rusty could hear the deep rumble against his ear, “The action out here is amazing, but there’s nothing like being home. I thought about you guys a lot when I was out there.”

“You thought about us?”

“Doc, for a long time my life revolved around keeping you guys safe. That eventually evolved past just keeping you alive… At some point, it turned into making sure you three were healthy.” Rusty knew that something very Freudian was playing out as was he slowly lulled against his bodyguard’s breast, “And now, I want you to be happy.”

“Now it’s just Dean and I. It looks like your work load got a little lighter, at least.” Joked Dr. Venture as he tightly closed his eyes before any tears could escape.

“We are going to find him.” Firmly replied Brock as his biceps stiffened, “Hank can be impulsive sometimes, but he usually does the right thing. He can at least protect himself, I mean, he technically passed the Sphynx testing.”

Dr. Venture had to admit that Hank always had the potential of being a great boy adventurer. He was stronger than Dean; both physically and mentally. Maybe not as conventionally intelligent, but his ability to critically think through most “sticky situations” was impressive. If his sons had been combined, then they could have been the perfect heir to the Venture name; even more iconic than their grandfather. Their upbringing with their self-conscious and deeply ashamed father would have balanced any potential for an overinflated ego.

“That’s true…”

“I have a feeling that Hank will be back by the time we get back to VenTech, and if he isn’t, I’m going out there to drag him back home. If I remember correctly, I’ve had to drag you back home before too. I chased you around the damn globe if I remember correctly.”

“Pffft.” Protested Rusty, “Don’t be ridiculous, Brock. When have you had to capture me, and drag me home?”

“Oh yeah? What happened to Sky then? I thought you and your rave _bae_ were going to run off to have a child together?” Brock ignored Rusty’s indignant sputters, “What happened to your feel-good family?”

Rusty appreciated that Brock’s quips never had malintent, and this always made for pleasant interactions. Most of their bonding was forged by Brock’s nonchalant attitude towards Rusty’s obvious toxic tendencies, which all seemed to stem back to poor self-esteem. He often internally thanked Brock for always being somewhat conscious of his employers obvious short-comings.

“Alright, alright, Mister. I get it; like father like son.” It almost felt like a lie to compare himself to his sons. They’re adapting to real-life much more seamlessly then he had; Dean was finding independence and Hank was already exploring romance. Rusty didn’t lose his virginity well into his twenties, and it had not been a proud moment.

_Don’t you want to grow up like dear old dad, son?_

“That’s not a bad thing, because you’re not a bad guy.”

“I may not be a bad person, but I’m pretty a terrible father, an awful scientist, and barely a man.”

“Whoa, whoa, that’s your whole problem.” Clucked Brock unimpressed, “It does no good to be negative. You need some confidence, Doc. Now get some shut eye.”

Rusty didn’t know when they had arrived to his room, or when Brock managed to tuck him in. Safely bundled in his comforter, Rusty’s openly ogled his bodyguard’s chiseled jawline. He often dreamed of touching his companions perfect bone structure. He didn’t know if his fixation stemmed from attraction or envy.

“Don’t go… Stay here.”

“Oh” Brock looked around the room awkwardly, “Don’t worry, I, uh, checked all the paintings and stuff. They’re just creepy paintings. No one is hiding behind them… I figured they wouldn’t, but, you know… old tropes like that sometimes are the ones that kill you.”

Much to Rusty’s frustration, Brock was referring to the multiple life size portraits in his spacious sleeping quarters. All suspiciously carrying a weapon of some sort and with eyes that followed. Brock had stabbed each of them, and checked the perimeter for trap doors; along with other stereotypical goodies.

“Oh.” ground out Rusty stiffening with mortification.

“Yeah…” Brock awkwardly lingered for a moment, “I won’t let anything happen to you. You know that.”

“I know. I just… I guess I just want you to stay…” 

“Listen.” Brock plopped down beside Rusty, “I know it’s hard for you to be here, and I appreciate you telling me about it back in the snowmobile. I’m not _too_ worried, but, you know, it never hurts to keep your guard up.”

Rusty propped himself up by his elbows to glance at this bodyguard laying halfway on the bed. His blonde hair tousled against the sheets and his sheer weight pulling Rusty closer. He was helpless as he gravitated closer to the other man; that alluring charm was apparently not solely effective on women, much to Rusty’s dismay.

“Um, Doc, what are you -”

Brock had been cut off by the weight of Rusty’s lips crashing down, and the man seemed frozen under Dr. Venture’s unexpected touch. His mouth tasted like cigars and whiskey, but his lips felt like satin. Rusty’s arms trembled as he balanced himself above the larger man. His groin pressed against his companion’s jeans, and as his anticipation grew, his pants became uncomfortably tight. He willed his tongue to venture deeper into the delicious cavern below him; blocking out the annoying nagging of Jonas as he continued.

_Oh, son, can’t you see he wouldn’t even be here if not for your name?_

“Whoa, hold on.” Huskily muttered Brock as he gently moved his employer aside, “Slow down, you don’t really want to do this.”

“I really do.” whispered Rusty as he lightly fought against his bodyguard’s grip.

“No, you don’t.” insisted Brock as he stood from the bed, facing the door, “Remember how you get when you’ve been popping pills… Acting out and… Manic behavior, and I can’t… It’s not right.”

Dr. Venture recoiled from the accusation and said nothing as Brock quickly left the room; muttering about being right next door and getting some rest. Rusty was left alone with shame weighing heavily in the pit of his stomach; hot tears bitterly trailing down his crow’s feet and laugh lines. Rusty tried to muffle his sobs against his fists, but he was sure Brock could hear him in the other room. He wondered if the other man would avoid him now… if he would leave again.

“Daddy, what should I do?” whispered Dr. Venture to the air. If Jonas Venture Sr. could hear him he would probably have blamed Rusty for Brock’s reaction. If he had worked a little harder to maintain a “good body”, or maybe if he were genuinely capable of generating his own profit. Per Jonas, Rusty was alone because he simply just didn’t work hard enough to make people want to stay.

_Oh, dear Rusty, daddy tried warning you? Didn’t he?_

As Rusty fell back into a fitful, exhausted sleep. Plagued by dreams of blonde men with soft kisses that smelled of pure masculine essence. Fantasies of glistening chiseled groin lines and perfectly oiled chests that made Dr. Venture salivate. Rusty wanted to memorize every nook and cranny, but the angel in his dream couldn’t stay either; not with sunlight peeking through the curtain and dancing across Dr. Venture’s puffy eyes.

“Oh god… what did I do?”


	7. The Adventures of Dean Venture, part two

**Part 1: On Our Father’s Coattails**

**_And now, the next chilling episode of: The Adventures of Dean Venture, part two._ **

“Thank you so much for giving us a chance, and coming with me.” Dean couldn’t bring himself to look at her, “I know we didn’t really explain what was happening last time, and I’m sorry. It’s just that, sometimes it won’t work if _everyone_ knows what’s about to happen…”

“What are you planning on doing tonight?”

“Well, tonight is going to be a mixed bag.” Yari quickly began to backtrack as Dean became less and less able to mask his worry, “Nothing too crazy, I promise. It’s just some _really_ suspicious things have been happening in both the spiritual and corporeal planes on this site. Haven’t you noticed the anomalies?”

“Not really. The weirdest stuff that happened was with you guys, actually.”

“Ouch, ok, we deserve that. Maybe some of the spiritual stuff could be attributed to what we did, but not the other stuff. Like, why did our ancillary crew get sent away _without notice_. They literally sent them off in the middle of the night to assist the _building’s_ crew? Like, what? Our ancillary crew consisted of my cousins, and some of them were minors… I don’t think they’re just allowed to kidnap them from their guardian to be put to work; we can’t even get them to work for us half of the time. Wasn’t there a little kid in your ancillary crew?”

“No, he just has a pituitary issue, I think.” Dean been disturbed when they had told him at breakfast that the “extras” in their group were sent away on an “emergency mission”. He had assumed that Billy and Pete were excited to finally be part of a mission exclusively for them. The only person who idolized Pop more than he had, at least as a kid, was Billy Quizboy. “But I do think you may be into something; something strange is happening here.”

“I’m so glad you agree!” chirped Yari happily as she led them into a dimly lit room, “because we’re going to figure out what’s happening, and utilize the ceremony we did yesterday!”

Dean was faced with both his Teddy Jr. and Lena seated around a table, clearly having an intimate conversation. Dean wanted to be annoyed at the scene before him, but he had to remember that on some level of, whatever this was, Lena had been “in on it”. Hatred’s advice had been to confront them, and Brock never gave him an answer; he had gone to bed suspiciously early.

“Dean, here, is being the best sport and giving us another chance.” Yari patted Dean’s back, encouraging him to go forward, “Now that he’s been made aware, we can include him on the plan!”

“Made aware?”

“The reason we slathered you in paint and scared the bejesus out of you. Supposedly, when you wear that symbol, and are placed under very _discomforting_ circumstances, you make the spirit world aware of you.” Teddy awkwardly explained, while avoiding eye contact with Dean.

“I think you could have tried _other ways_ to scare me.” Scowled Dean, “I have a pretty significant list of fears to choose from… no need to invent new ones.”

“It has to be genuine.” Yari turned Dean to face her, “You have to genuinely be afraid. Not like, when you see a spider. Somewhere deep in your subconscious you know that you’re able to overpower that spider, or that you can run from it. When someone dies a violent or unnatural way, there’s a point when they are briefly opened into the spirit world; you can see them and they can see you.”

“So, because you felt like it, you decided to scare me into thinking I was about to die… You put me in a ritual to play a _game_.” Dean deadpanned.

“Yes, yes, we were assholes for not asking. I totally agree with you. If you didn’t ever want to see us again, I would respect that and leave you alone for the remainder of this _thing_.” Dean felt a small accumulation of sweat form over his brows as the intensity of her eyes burned through him, “But, you came back. You gave us a chance, and I think it’s because it’s in your nature to be knee deep in this weird shit. You secretly love it; like a straight up masochist.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean rolled his eyes at her assumption, “It’s not like we’re trapped here for a month, and now there’s half of the people available. It’s either you guys or hang out with my dad; so, don’t flatter yourselves.”

“Fair.” Agreed Lena.

“Alright!” interrupted Yari, clearly annoyed, ushering her companions into their seats, “Tonight the name of the game will be RECON. We go to find the records room of this place, both the new and the old. We’ll split up in groups of two; group A will be going into the current records room, and group B will go to the old asylums record room.”

“Groups?” questioned Dean, slightly annoyed at the implication of being alone with Teddy again.

“No worries, friend” responded Yari with both thumbs pointed at her chest, “You’re with the OG tonight and I’m feeling a little, like, total Harry Mason vibes. We’re doing this classic survivor horror style; circa 1999.”

“When do we start?”

“After dinner! We’ll let our parents think we’re going to bed, and then we meet in the old mess hall. Everyone bring a flash light, and Teddy, bring your walkie-talkies.” 

“Fine.” Drawled Teddy, “But tell your father to stop feeding our parent’s straight whiskey for dinner. My father is a diabetic and he’s a mess when he’s plastered; gets all pink faced and sentimental. If he cries and tells me how much I look like my _mother_ one more time while I’m _forced_ to administer his insulin; he will die.”

“Yeah, he’s like, ruining my life. My dad is not used to real drinks, and when he’s drunk he apparently thinks the paintings are out to kill him.” Laughed Dean, “My dad’s idea of a cocktail is ketchup and bourbon

“Oh, that’s disgusting!”

“No, that’s a _Hunchback_.”

_Sometime after dinner, the new-new Team Venture convene to find answers!_

“Alright, Team A, we will see you in thirty minutes, over!” called Yari into an original Team Venture walkie-talkie. Dean had been more than surprised when Teddy had reluctantly given them the device for tonight’s excursion; apparently at some point his almost-enemy was a fan of his grandfather’s legacy.

“What do we hope to gain by doing this? Over.” responded Teddy impatiently through their device.

“These maids are super suspect, dude. Rule number one, rule out the lame sequel; are these just lingering crazy people fucking with us? Or is this a legit Think-Tank? Over.”

“I suppose… Roger, out.”

Yari turned to Dean flushed with childlike adoration, “Alright dude, I’m really excited to be working with you today! I’ll look through the end of the alphabet and you check out the front.”

“I think you may be expecting too much out of this.” Replied Dean as he began to scour the A’s for any familiar faces. Really, this exercise didn’t make any sense. It’s not as though they had very many chances meet many of the staff members here. At best, he only knew the main maid’s face; everyone else had been a blur. “Do you really think that they’re just ex-mental patient homeless people trying to mess with us?”

“No, not really.”

“Then what are we doing here?” Why were they wasting their time in a dusty records room that was on the verge collapse? Dean could be thinking of ten other things he’d rather be doing right now, but no, God forbid he hang out with some _normal_ kids.

“You have to rule out the most obvious motive first, and from there you branch out. If not them, then maybe one of our associates? Who is running this Think Tank, and why? What are they hoping that our parents, from such different backgrounds, can achieve together? There had to be some thought behind _who_ was invited.”

“Isn’t the whole point of this to grab the most innovative minds in super science? In hopes of creating some new technology, or something?” Dean wasn’t surprised that VenTech was invited to this event, but he had never heard of the other scientists before.

“Then where is Dr. Quyum? Or Dr. Impossible? Or, the newly reemerged, Dr. Ong? Why did they pick a handful of obscure scientists and then a _heavy hitter_?” Dean rolled his eyes at her emphasis on his sham of a family. It wasn’t his fault that his father was the ultimate failure to launch.

“Did anything strange happen last night?”

“No.” muttered Dean looking rummaging the dusty files, “Pop got drunk and scared himself with paintings… Then Brock, our bodyguard, went to bed… Hatred hung out until about midnight… Mr. White and Dr. Whalen were supposedly shipped out around two in the morning. The only ones reporting to see them off was Dr. Obi and his body-guard, who were wandering to the kitchen for a midnight snack.”

“That’s oddly specific.” Mumbled Yari with a raised brow.

“Just because I doubted any nefarious plot, doesn’t mean that I didn’t ask any questions.” Over the last few years, Dean has tried to pull away from the “boy-adventurer” persona. Now, that he had just made it to the doorstep of the goodness to honest real-world, Dean wasn’t willing to let it go. However, every now and then he found himself playing into his father’s dream role. Asking the all the right questions, and making plans to investigate; even when there was nothing to investigate.

“I’m glad to see that assimilation hasn’t taken your investigative spirit, my friend.” Admitted Yari warmly as she gingerly fingered through a thick file. From a moment Dean took it upon himself to study his partner. Embarrassingly, from the moment he got there, Dean had been preoccupied with Lena. He never quite took the time to observe the girl who probably set all the previous day’s gears in motion.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, that hard slap to the face when you realize that there is more to life than _super_ -anything.” Her face was surrounded by wild locks that twisted and turned without reason. “When you finally get to meet normal people, and it dawns on you that no one else deals with legit psychotic people in spandex… it’s daunting. That’s why everyone else had been to parties, driven cars, worked a part-time job, or gotten laid. They never had to lay awake at night wondering if something was waiting under their bead… waiting for them to fall asleep so that it can _get_ you. Other people don’t sleep with a knife under their pillow.”

Dean intently watched as her lips began to swell as she absent-mindedly chewed them; in this dim light, they seemed to turn a dusky-rose. He wondered if they were soft, like Sirena’s had been that night, or would they be firm? Did every girl’s lips feel different? Or were they universally soft?

_Would our hero get a piece of that action? Or will he fall flat?_

“Hey!” Dean blinked back to reality to find Yari waving a file under his nose, “You might want to see this…” He was filled with a sense of dread as he read the name on the file; Thaddeus S. Venture, April 30th, 1960.

…

…

…

_Incoming message_

…

…

…

_Incoming message_

…

…

…

_Incoming message_

…

…

…

_“Tired of spooky specters ruining your goodnight’s sleep? Frustrated with walking into your kitchen only to find all the furniture stacked to the ceiling? Call us, and we’ll put your worries back to rest!”_

“Ugh, turn off the TV... I hate this commercial.”

“What’s wrong with it? I think it’s pretty sweet, dude.”

“It’s my sister’s favorite, and I happen to hate my sister.”

“I can totally relate. My brother is a pretty huge pain in the ass, too.”

“So you’ve said.”

Hank switched the television off, and watched as his companion stared deeply into a shinning crystal ball at the center of the table. He didn’t know what the other man saw, because to him it just looked like static.

“What did you say her name was again?”

“Bobbi Saint Simone. She was an actress, or some junk.”

…

…

…

_End transmission_

…

…

…

_**Please stay seated for a special double feature of:** _

_**The Adventures of Dean Venture, part three** _

“How do we know that it’s real? What if it’s part of the conspiracy?”

“You could always ask him?” Lena’s gentle voice wasn’t as comforting or sweet as Dean remembered; it was annoyingly quiet, like when you hear a mosquito buzzing around your ear.

“My father has been keeping secrets from me since I was _born_. I don’t think he’ll just volunteer that information.” Muttered Dean as he ran his hands through his hair. There were a few conversations that he was waiting to confront his father about, but it wouldn’t feel right if Hank was excluded from the conversation _again_.

“Well, you’ll never know until you try.” Lena smiled easily as she began placing pages of his father’s medical file against the collage of evidence they had built on the walls. “I know it feels like they’re unapproachable at times, but I think our parents love us… in one way or another.”

  
Manic depression, borderline personality disorder, and generalized anxiety disorder. That was his father’s emotional cocktail, or at least that’s what these doctors had thought at the time. He had been admitted by his grandfather, but the any pages that mentioned the original incident that had gotten him admitted was suspiciously missing. All Dean could find was a history of suicidal ideation and several incidents in facility. Apparently, his father had bitten a piece of an orderly’s ear off during an altercation; the orderly ultimately had forty-six stitches across his face and his right eye could not be salvaged. Dean couldn’t remember his father ever having any overtly violent outburst towards another person. Not even once.

“Team Jodie, come in, this is Team Harry.”

“Good to hear from you, Team Harry. Over.”

“We’ve reached the ice blocks, and we’re looking the namesake. Over.”

“Roger that, we’re still compiling the timeline. There’s a lot of black holes, but we’re starting to see some interesting patterns. Over.” 

“We’ll convene at tea-time. Over and out.”

“Roger that.”

All radio communication had been taken over by Lena and Teddy. Both had been very excited about their exchange in partners, and Dean was still feeling annoyed by Teddy’s smug grin when Yari had suggested it. She claimed that she needed Teddy’s “familiarity” when searching in the “spirit world”. What a load of shit, she had also claimed that she _needed_ him for his experience, but then immediately proceeded to bench him. This was always Dean’s luck, wasn’t it? He could never get the alternative girl, could he? Triana had been his manic pixie dream girl, but that never came to fruition either.

“Well, at least this all seemed to be from before you were born.” Lena took a step back as she finished placing the last page to the timeline. “Your father was admitted here in September 1st, 1978, but reason why has either been crossed out or ripped out; that’s not a coincidence. It was an involuntary admission, or maybe a transfer. There seems to be mentions of a Order of Protective Custody. According to the nurse, she took report from an Emergency department in Colorado Springs on August 31th, 1978. Your father arrived at 2:09 a.m. the next morning.”

“He was eighteen.” Muttered Dean as he traced his finger along his father’s picture. It was a polaroid picture, and his face was obscured by a green discoloration; no doubt water damage. It was taken under fluorescent lamps, and the young man was stripped down to his dirty, white briefs. Dean used to think that his father was exaggerating when he lamented his troubled youth, but maybe there was some truth to the tragic tales.

_It seems our hero’s world is going topsy-turvy! Will he find solace in the truth?_

“Are you doing okay?” Lena gently placed a hand on each of Dean’s shoulders, “It’s weird to see this side of our parents. Especially when it’s something as private as mental health records. My first time, um, it was… Doing this type of thing is weird and it’s all a lot more predestined than you think. You being here is not a coincidence.”

“There is no end.”

“Dean, everything ends at some point –“

“No.” Interrupted Dean as he shrugged her off his shoulders. “The casefile. There is no ending point in his admission. The last recorded day was May 18th, 1979.”

“You don’t consider the transfer order on June 20th to be enough of an end? He was transferred to the morgue.”

“There is no document stating how, when, or where he died. It’s not even an actual order! It’s a reminder. It’s on a _sticky-note_ and it’s stapled to a morgue tag receipt, _thing_.”

“We eventually need to go back to the record room to find out who patient 1030-D was. They seemed to have a lot of interactions with your father, and most of them resulted in disciplinary actions.”

Dean had noticed 1030-D’s frequent mentions along his father’s admission. In their first encounter, his father had been taken hostage by 1030-D for six hours. The list of demands had included:

  1. _Their immediate release from the facility._
  2. _To release all medical records to the Department of Health and any local media station._
  3. _For all staff members to turn themselves over to the local authorities._



These demands were ignored, and they orderlies took down the flimsy barricade. 1030-D was taken to “The Quiet Room” and Dean’s father had been taken to the infirmary. It had resulted in a sprained neck, six stitches on his forehead, and a broken pinky-finger. All minor injuries, but a rough start to a first week inpatient.

“Team Jodie, come in, Team Jodie. Over.”

“We hear you loud and clear, over.”

“We have made contact with the ice block, I repeat, we have made contact. Over.”

Dean’s back stiffened as Teddy’s voice crackled through the air. Team Harry had gone to investigate the toe-tag left in the chart, but the reality of the situation hadn’t quite dawned on him yet. If that was his father in the morgue, then was it a clone? Would his father be able to cope with this knowledge? Did he already know?

“Is it what we suspected, Team Harry? Over.”

“Well, Team Jodie, we seem to be unable to confirm our suspicions at this time. Over.”

“Wait, why?” Dean pulled the walkie-talkie towards him as he grew impatient.

“ _Because_ , Team _Jodie_ , we are missing about twenty-five percent of our specimen. So, unless you know the original model has any specific markings, then we’re shit out of luck. _Over._ ”.

“I’m coming to you.” Dean jumped up, before Lena could stop him, and ran out the door. He could faintly hear Teddy’s muffled profanities as he continued to distance himself from the room. Dean could feel his chest tightening and vision dim as bolted ran down the hallway. The last time Dean ran this quickly was to get help while his brother bled out in his dorm.

“Dean, please stop!” a panicked voice echoed behind him, “Yari said… the Siren… Stop!”

Dean didn’t stop; not when the little shouts behind him faded away, or when everything faded to darkness. All he knew was that he needed to keep running until he found it, or at least what’s left of it. Had he been forgotten here? Did his grandfather just clone another Rusty after misplacing this one? How many times had he been cloned, and why did his heart hurt so much for _this_ Rusty; the forgotten one. This was a conversation that Dean was supposed to have with Pop and Hank privately, but being so close to the raw, uncensored truth was something Dean couldn’t turn away from. How many Hank and Deans were made before the production was permanently stopped?

It was when Dean was dangerously close to blacking out that he finally slowed down. The cold, stale air burned his lungs as he gasped to catch his breath. He was sure that he’d end up with pneumonia from the dusty, mold that had kicked up.

“Oh god.” Moaned Dean as the realization of being lost dawned on him. A barely-there light sneaking in through a crack in the wall was the only glimmer of hope Dean had left to hang onto. “Shit, shit, shit…”

“ _Look…at…me…”_

A soft, cool breeze gently wafted against the back of his neck; all the little hairs stood on edge upon contact. Something about the other night had deeply disturbed Dean, and it was something he saw right before he blacked-out. Overgrown nails that had reached out and tried to touch him. Something that has been trying to get his attention ever since then, and Dean had been desperately trying to ignore it; fingers dancing in the corners of his eyes. 

“ _Look…at…me…_ ”

Dean’s breaths sped up as he carefully pivoted to face the figure obscuring his peripheral vision. Pale, blue fingers gently cupped his face, and guided Dean to finally face it. That night, Sirena had done a very similar act before their first kiss. He had thought it strange when she done it, but in this moment, it felt right.

“ _Oh… it’s… you.”_

What Dean witnessed was a thin, pale body in little white briefs holding cupping his cheeks. Cold fingertips explored his face as the overgrown nails tickled him. The little body in front of him was almost perfect; seventy-five percent, to be exact. His father’s nearly perfect body marred by the uneven stump where his head should be.

“Wake… up… Dean!”

Jolting up Dean found himself no longer standing in the abandoned hallway with a corpse, but sitting upright on a surgical steel table. The florescent lights filled him with deja vu as he stared at the scene before him. The two perpetrators quietly staring with hands covered in bright red liquid.

“Oh dear, sweet baby Jesus.” Whispered Teddy in childlike awe, “I can see him. You were right.” 

“Dean.” Yari took a cautious step forward with two bright red hands in the air, “Before you look down I need you to understand. This is not permanent and you are okay. We need you on the edge of the gate to solve the mystery. You are a blood relative, so you have benefits that none of us have.”

Dean shakily turned his head to see that he seemed to be sitting on a body. The body of a young man in a Stuyvesant University sweater was displayed in front of him; his face and hair was matted in red. Dean could barely make out the freckles against the swollen cheeks and brow.

“What did you do to me?"

"Isn't it obvious?" laughed Teddy, "We killed you."

_And that concludes this petrifying episode of The Adventures of Dead Venture!_

…

…

…

Incoming transmission

…

…

…

Incoming transmission

…

…

…

Incoming transmission

…

…

…

_“Tired of phantom footsteps keeping you awake at night? Are you sick of precious family pictures being knocked off walls? How many more times do you have to question if you’ve been cursed? Call us, and we’ll put your worries back to rest!”_

"I swear just I turned if off dude!"

"I know." Hank was startled by the handsome green eyes fixated on him, "Grab your jacket. We're going now."

"Oh sweet, you found my mom?"

"No. Actually, I found your brother."

_..._

_..._

_..._

_End transmission_

_..._

_..._

_..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the patience and love. I don't know if anyone is frustrated by my slow pace, but the last few months have been stressful to say the least, and it's been weighing on me. The current state of the world is unsettling, and it seems that there is a lack of empathy or compassion. Writing this has been really fun, and definitely a great escape from reality. I don't know if I'll end up writing any faster, but you can at least expect me to update within a month. 
> 
> Whether it be positive or negative, tell me how it is. If anyone has suggestions on how to make it sound more natural or easier to read, please let me know. Is it too slow? Does characters movement between scenes feel satisfying, or even obvious? I am not at all offended by criticism with writing or art, so let me know if there's something that could improve.


End file.
